Tastes Like Red Wine: Origins of the Spanish Ninja
by Maki82
Summary: A young Vega and his life before Shadowlaw; he must fight to protect himself and his beautiful mother from his monstrous father...but in doing so, will he become him? AU/violence, rape, blood, H/C, etc... Please read & review! Enjoy!
1. Origins of the Spanish Ninja

**DISCLAIMER:**

**This story contains content of a highly disturbing nature that may be offensive to some readers: including abuse, rape, and torture. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended! Vega's life is not a pretty picture! Vega is owned by CAPCOM. For entertainment only.**

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1

My mother was pure and innocent; the fragrance of red roses scented her pale skin. Her long blonde hair was as warm as the Barcelonan sun that shone on it, and her eyes as blue as the sky. It was the one thing that I remembered of her-the smell of red roses and the bitterness of blood and tears that stained her precious skin-how the taste lingered on my lips when kissed her cheek. It mixed together in my mouth like my first taste of red wine. Even as a child, I tasted it and it was comforting and horrible all at once. When she smiled, it was rare and it was like the heavens opened up only for a brief moment, and then all would be dark and still. My father took away her smiles and replaced them with frowns. He with his cold, blue piercing eyes, his face set so jaggedly against his smooth skin. He kept his dark brown hair coiffed with a heavy oil-slick of pomade and with this I knew a different smell—the smell of anger and fear...

I watched with horror as he threw my mother to the ground and she hit the wall. She seemed to shatter like porcelain. I went to help her but I felt a strong, painful grip on my arm.

"No, boy." he said sternly and I could see his anger flashing.

"Vega!" she cried, struggling to pull herself up from the ground.

"Mama!" I exclaimed, fighting to pull from his grasp.

"What have I told you, boy? She is a whore! Nothing but and she'll spread her legs for anyone-even _you_..." Papa said matter-of-factually.

"No! How could you say that, Papa?"

I looked to Mama, who sat up now, still sprawled on the floor like a doll. She shook her head and whimpered.

"It isn't true..." she whispered. Papa glared at her.

"No, no..." she moaned. "Miguel, please."

I looked back at my father, trying to understand. Why would he say such a thing? Why? I freed myself and ran to Mother, wrapping my arms around her and weeping against her neck.

"Oh that's right, Vega. Go to Mama now. Suck her tit like always. You will never be a man. Never! And I will _not _have a son who is not a man!"

I was outraged and I stood up, ready to defend myself.

"I will be a man, Papa! And I will be a better man than you..." I hissed back. "Mama is not a whore and she is more kind, more beautiful than you ever will be!" Papa grabbed her again and began to drag her across the floor to her feet, pinning her against the wall. He pressed against her as she continued to cry.

"If you _love _her so much, then prove it." He growled at me, as he reached under her blue silk dress and began to pull down her panties. He spread her thighs with his knee between them.

"No!" I screamed and I could see Mama, with her face pressed against the wall still begging him to stop.

"Go on boy!" He yelled again, grabbing me by the arm and throwing me at her, gesturing at my pants. I shook my head angrily.

"Never." and I stepped away.

"Go, Vega! Get out of here!" she cried out and she was met with my father's hand grabbing a fist full of her golden hair and pulling her head back. She screamed and I felt my body lock in place.

"No. You will stay. I'm going to show you that your mother is a whore." said my father in a gruff voice and his ice blue eyes sparkled in an evil light.

"Please, Vega, go!" sobbed Mother once more.

I threw myself into the corner and shielded myself with my arms. I could not bear to know what he would do...but I heard the sound of his buckle being undone and the zipper... I heard him give a loud grunt, the smacking of flesh and her cries.

"You can't deny it, Victoria." he hissed between his thrusts into her ear. "I saw you with those men at the Ambassador's Ball last weekend!"

"No, it's not-not-what you think, Miguel. I...I was only being polite!"

I peeked through my arms through the narrow slit they made as I held my knees.

_Ambassador's Ball...he can't mean...I saw him screwing a woman in the coatroom...how can he?_ I thought. _Is this why he's so angry?_

I was there with my parents that weekend. Another boring function I was forced to attend to make them look good in their social circles. I sat next to the British Ambassador's daughter, as she was also my age of 13. We had little to talk about since my English was only fair and she did not speak Spanish. She said she knew a little French. My mother taught me but I never used it—we always spoke in our native Catalan at home.

And so, we did as any awkward teens would do and we decided to hold hands coyly and smile at each other.

I knew my mother and I knew she was not doing the same thing my father was that night. My mother was a beautiful sight and her smile was confident and radiant when she was not with him. It was easy to see how many would love her charm and grace.

I could still hear him panting and groaning like the monster he was and I felt my stomach begin to churn.

"Tell me, Victoria. Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me, you _need_ me, like you always do!"

"I want-" and the rest was indistinguishable by her wails.

"Do you love me, Victoria?" I heard him say, followed by a deathly weak response. "Do _worship_ me? I am your _savio_r, your _god_, Victoria! Remember who you are and what you would be without _me_." He paused for a moment and I felt an icy glare upon me.

"Do you love Vega?" he asked and I could hear the evil in his intonation. I feared to hear her speak.

"Yes," she moaned. With another violent thrust, he slammed into her again, crushing her hips against the wall. He slapped her face.

"You abominable whore!" he roared and I hugged myself close and shut my eyes tight. "I should slit your throat now for having something so _unnatural _in my house! God will damn you, woman!"

I could hear my mother practically choking on her tears as she fought to speak.

"No, it's not like that. I could never...never..."

"Shut up!" and he continued his thrusts. I couldn't hear her speak anymore and he seemed quiet but I knew it was still happening. I heard him growl something inaudible in her ear and then I saw him throw her to the floor again, her body making a loud smack as it hit the cold, marble floor.

"She's yours now, boy." Father growled and I heard him finally disappear down the corridor.

"Mama! Mama!" I cried, crawling on my hands and knees to her. "Oh God, Mama!" I said as I pulled her up and held her in my arms. She lifted her head slowly to look at me.

"Vega..."

I touched her face gently and my eyes trailed down to her dress. I saw blood staining the end and a small trail on the floor and I dare not look again. She smiled her faint heavenly smile at me. My eyes widened and my hands began to shake.

"Mama, you're..."

"Help me up, _el_ _meu_ _amor_. Get me to the bath." she said, not even seeming to care that she bled. I was growing taller by the month but still my strength waned. I could not take her into my arms to carry her as I wished so I did my best to brace my arms around her and she held to my shoulders. I walked carefully as she stumbled weakly now and again, throwing off her high heels somewhere in the corridor as she walked. Her tan stockings were ripped and hung loosely around her ankles. Her immaculate hairdo was tussled and wrecked.

I finally made it to her master bathroom and sat her gently on the toilet. Then, I began the water in her white porcelain tub. As I waited for it to fill, she looked at me quietly.

"Ok, Vega. Help me." she said.

"Mother..." I said softly, questioning her.

She sighed but it was not in annoyance; she sighed in complete exhaustion.

"Vega, I know...that you don't want to do this...but, you don't have to look. Just...unzip my dress. I'll do the rest." and so I did. I watched her dress fall to the floor and I turned my back as she continued to undress. I knew I should have left then but a part of me could not bear to leave her in that state. She wrapped a towel around her body and beckoned me.

"Ok, take my hand now. I'll be alright. I promise." I did so and I turned my head away again as she slowly sank into the water, and she hissed as the warmth stung her wounds.

"Mother, are you alright?" I said in some alarm, holding to her hand and crouched down beside her.

"Oh yes, Vega. I'm fine!" she said cheerily. I tried not to notice as the water suddenly turned a pale shade of red.

"Mother...I think you need to go to hospital," I said quietly. I could see bruises forming all over her back and ribs. Her blue eyes widened and she squeezed my hand.

"No! I cannot go!" she cried in horror. "They mustn't find out!"

"But Mama!" I protested.

"I'm alright. Your father... he is a cruel man but I don't believe him to be evil. He beat me much worse than this before you were born." I could not believe what I was hearing.

"What?" I exclaimed. I knew that they had married only nine months before my birth. I felt nauseous again and I looked at my mother with tears in my eyes.

"What is it, Vega?"

"It can't be true..."

"Oh, _el meu fill_..." she cooed, running her hand through my long-growing golden hair and wiping the tears from my face. "I love you and I will always cherish the day I had you." I kissed her and she smiled, hugging me.

**Glossary:**

_El meu fill_ - My son (Catalan)  
_El meu amor_ - My love (Catalan)


	2. Aftermath

The attack on my mother left her in bed for 2 weeks and unable to walk for a while after, but it was not to say I let her bleed to death that night. Though I dare not admit to myself what the true nature of her injuries were, I knew she needed help—even if she did not want it. Knowing she feared a trip to the hospital, I called the local family doctor to the house just after my father left for his nightly parties.

She lay in her grand bed of white lace embroidered comforters and white cotton sheets, her head propped under two fluffy pillows. I had just gotten her bathed and into her bed when the doctor arrived. She slowly sat forward,

"What is this, Vega?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry, Mama, but I had to…" I replied softly.

The doctor was an older gentleman with graying hair, gray suit and a kindly smile, holding his black bag.

He approached her bedside and laid his hand over hers.

"How are you, Mrs. De Cerna?" he said with a gentle smile.

"I'm fine, Doctor."

"Yes, well, your son tells me you were raped by your husband…" at this my mother's eyes widened.

"_Raped?_ How could he tell you that?"

"Mother!" I exclaimed. "It's the truth!"

"Hush, Vega!" she cried.

"Calm yourself, Mrs. De Cerna." Said the doctor, patting her hand again.

He looked back to me,

"I need to examine your mother now, go on." He said and I went and waited outside the door, listening.

"Mrs. De cerna, we must look at your wounds if you wish to get better. Please open your gown so that I may see," and she did. He gently inspected the large black welts forming on her stomach and chest. He prodded at her stomach and chest. She moaned.

"I'm sorry, does that hurt?" he said and she nodded. He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together, and exhaled. "This will not be pleasant but I must look." He said as he lifted her gown to her hips, removing her underwear and spreading her thighs. She shifted uncomfortably as he muttered. After a few moments, he looked at her gravely.

"You seem to have lost a lot of blood and there may be internal bleeding. We need to get you to the hospital to be sure."


	3. A Fateful Ride

The car ride down town was silent as I wondered what he was up to. Passed all the old buildings and the cobblestone streets we drove until the car stopped in front of a massive brick building. It looked to be some kind of arena. We got out and I stood in amazement at it.

"_La Plaza de Toros Monumental_," said my father putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Bullfighting?" I said. It is a misconception that bullfighting is a national sport in Spain. It really is not. We are Catalonian people, a culture and a heritage all our own! Bullfighting is Spanish and therefore, there is not a lot of bullfighting happening in Catalonia anymore.

"_Sí,_" he replied. "_Vale, va manos,_" and we walked inside. We stopped at the ticket booth to get tickets and we took our seats in the bleachers.

"_No ho crec!_" I exclaimed.

"What was that?" said Father, his voice rising in annoyance.

"_No-no lo creo_…" I replied, quickly switching to Castillian.

"Ay! You _have_ been with your mother too long. You've forgotten your own tongue!"

"No I haven't. It's just that…we _are_ in Catalonia. We can't be expected to use Spanish all the time and Mama-"

"Oh yes, 'Mama'…" he snickered.

"_Mama_ likes it better." I continued defiantly. He folded his arms.

"So why are we here?" I asked. He was staring off into the distance and I could see the frustration on his face.

"I told you about men and women didn't I, Vega? When men and women like each other?" he asked, not even looking at me.

"Yes," I replied, curiously.

"I think it's time you learned more about women." He replied.

"But I _know_, Papa!" I protested.

"No, you don't. You're too young to know everything yet. Now, listen here. I don't know what your mother has told about women and how they work, but she lied. This much I know."

"What?" I cried. "She would never lie!" He smirked at me and my indignant attitude.

"Sit down, boy. You're making a scene. Women are soft and subservient creatures. They serve no other purpose than to serve us. They want us to dominate them. They are far too weak to stand on their own,"

"They do?" I asked, vexed.

"Yes. Look at your mother! She's a mess. Women already know this. Why else would they cheat men into doing things for them? Your mother has done nothing but use me since I met her. She is weak and useless."

"That isn't so!" I cried again.

"Think, boy. She has you wrapped around her finger and you do everything for her…now, I told you she can take care of herself. You'd do well to leave her alone,"

"No, Papa! She needs me. She's sick!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, she's sick. She's a whore and she'll do nothing but use you. All women are whores, remember that. You must treat them as such,"

"No! Not Mama! She's perfect. She isn't a whore, she isn't!" I insisted. Mother was pure porcelain perfection in my eyes.

"No one is perfect; _God_ is perfect..." he snickered.

I licked my lips in thought. What my father never knew was I already knew what _other_ women were like. The maids with their dark hair and eyes thought they could hide their lustful secrets but I knew...

"_¡Oye! ¡Niño!_ Are you listening to me?" said the voice of my father, shattering my thoughts.

"_¿Qué? _I said. He sighed heavily.

"I can't blame you if you were watching the fight! It really is splendid." and he laid a rough hand on my shoulder again. I nearly jumped, looking at him from the corner of my eye.

I watched as the matador moved in the arena, in his brightly colored costume. I saw his grace and agility, deftly dodging the bull at each turn.

"_¡Olé!_" cried the crowd.

I saw how he could out-maneuver the bull despite the animal's brute strength. I saw myself there, like the matador, leading my father to his demise. Soon, the bull would be at his mercy, and so would my father...

I watched, fascinated as the matador did a few flips, to the cheers of the crowd. He moved gracefully, his lithe form dancing around the bull, taunting it with the red cloth. It waved like a red sea in front of him, like the color of flowing blood, luring the bull to his death—it was the dance of death.

"Huh? What?" I said again, still transfixed.

"Damn it!" he swore at me, "The matador_._ He is very famous, you know. The crowd always likes his tricks. In fact, he only just recently came out of retirement." explained Father, his tone rising.

I nodded absentmindedly as I stared at the man. Someday, I would be him, this I knew. How wonderful it would be!

"And did you know the King is big lover of bullfighting? He often attends them!"

"The King?" I exclaimed. "Does the Queen come with him?"

"Queen Sofia is not fond of it, no, and she has become more vocal recently since Their Majesties took the Throne." I felt thrilled that perhaps I would be in the arena someday and the King would see _me_.

Soon, people began to rise and my father motioned for me to start following him out.

It was dark by the time we arrived home, but Father and I went in separate ways. It was not long before I heard his voice rose in anger again. I quietly walked down the hallway to see where he was.

"_¡No! ¡No! ¡No hicenada! Por favor, ¡Señor! Es que-_" he had the maid by the arm and was shaking her violently. Her dress was disheveled and I could see her shoulder and a red bloody mark upon it—_my_ mark.

"_¡Dime!_" he roared. He threw her down to the floor and glared at me.

"Vega!" he hissed as she whimpered at his feet. "What did you do to her? What did you do?"

I folded my hands innocently behind my back with a smirk. I could still taste her on my lips, her blood was so sweet. I delighted in molesting the maids whenever possible, and though it was rarely sexual, the real pleasure was in infuriating my father. I met his glare, knowing he would not punish me and turned and walked towards my mother's room triumphantly.

I knocked on her door softly and entered.

"Oh Vega, you're home!" cried Mother, throwing open her arms. I came and wrapped my arms around her waist, kissing her cheeks.

"Hello, Mama. I'm back," I said, burrowing my head against her chest, the rest of my body hanging to the floor.

"_Uf,_ I think you're getting too big for me, _elmeu fill!_" she cried with a laugh.

"No, Mama. Never." I said and I kissed on her cheeks and neck, deeply inhaling her comforting familiar scent. She stroked my hair and smiled.

"So tell me. Where did you and your father go this afternoon?"

_Oh God, my father…_I groaned mentally.

"_La Plaza deToros Monumental_," I replied. She sat up on her elbows and I adjusted my position.

"Bullfighting?" she exclaimed. "Why on earth would you go there?" she asked, her voice rising shrilly.

"I don't know. He wanted to talk to me, I guess," I replied with a shrug.

"About what?" She looked at me patiently for a response, continuing to stroke my hair.

My mouth opened but I said nothing, my eyes cast downward.

"I need to take my bath now. Will you help me?" she asked and my heart fell to my stomach and my cheeks felt like they burned. I could hear Father's voice in my head. _He's wrong._ I thought to myself. She lifted herself off the bed into her wheelchair. I followed her into her bathroom, which was just inside her bedroom. I stared at the water in her white porcelain tub and sat on the edge as it filled. She took off her robe as she waited. I stared into the water at my reflection and admired myself.

I took her hand as she slid off her night gown and underwear. She put one foot into the tub and fell back against me. I caught her and she stepped inside the tub again. I traced the lines of her body with my eyes. From the gentle slope of her hip to the fullness of her breasts—she was beautiful. She looked at me as she sank into the water.

"Are you not ashamed to see your Mother naked?" she asked as she met my gaze.

"No. You're beautiful." I said softly. I sat behind her and washed her back. I drew figures on her back idly with my finger and continued to follow the lines of her body with my eyes. She sighed pleasantly, closing her eyes, and tipping her head back. I watched her sensually stretch her legs out to the end of the tub, her toes poking from the water.

"Such a sweet boy, _my_ sweet boy..." she cooed, reaching back to cup my face. I wrapped my arms around her neck gently.

"Now, what did your father say, Vega? Hm?" she asked casually. "You seem upset...not that you shouldn't be. He's your father after all." she replied and her tone was low and bitter.

"He said that you are a whore," I said and I could barely bring myself to say it. Mother sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, he always says that. You know he does."

"But it isn't true!" I cried. She turned to look at me.

"Of course not, my darling. I have never betrayed him." I looked at her and thought about my father's words again. _Would you betray __**me**__? _I thought. Mother smiled at me.

"And I would never betray you," she said assuredly as if she read my thoughts. I looked her in the eye and I felt myself begin to swoon. I kissed her, perhaps only for a moment. A sweet peck on the mouth, and I felt the soft warmth of her lips and I knew her taste, the same taste I knew since I was born; the bitter salt of her tears and the copper & iron of her precious blood. I kissed her as gently as I always did, and yet I felt all my passion flowing out—as if I might take all of her breath in mine. I quickly pulled away, fearing what I would see when I opened my eyes. And yet, when I opened them, she did not look afraid or shocked...perhaps she did not look like anything at all. She pressed her forehead to mine, with her usual endearing smile, and giggled. I stared at her, amazed. _Mama, how could you do this to me? _

"My! What was that for? How wonderful you are! You really are a sensitive boy, aren't you?"she said with a chuckle and then she turned away from me and sank down into the water, the bubbles covering her shoulders.

"You know, when we first met, your father told me I looked like _Brigitte Bardot_, with blue eyes of course." said Mama after a moment. I clenched my jaw and restrained myself from touching her, wondering how she could change so quickly.

"I remember, Mama—that French actress, from the '50's." I said, somewhat irritated but she didn't seem to notice.

She crossed her legs and began singing something softly in French, directing each syllable with her toes, and then she trailed off in mid-phrase. I watched puff of bubbles slide down her toe as she wiggled it.

"She's not as popular now as she was then, and I never cared for her." she chuckled, "_Ay,_ you know, I even did my hair like hers for a while just so your father would like it,"

"I've seen her, Mama. She's still around...I've seen her in Papa's magazines. He showed me once, and told me she was also a whore—that all women are whores, and that we should treat them like one."

"Oh now, you don't really believe that, do you?" she said, a tone of skepticism in her voice.

"Of course not, Mama. Why would I listen to anything he says?" I said wryly.

"Good. You must always treat women with respect. They are not objects, they are meant to be loved and worshiped and cared for like the most precious thing you could ever have."

_I only want to worship you..._

"So, why doesn't Papa love women?"

"Your father is rife with sin in his life. He only hears what he wants and believes what he wants and if he'd rather listen to one passage of the Bible than the other, then it is his choice. Not a very good one, though."

I knew what she was referring to in the Bible; where God created women, He explained why He made them. In one way it said that women were mans' companion, to be his friend, to love and care for him, and to love and care for her in return, and yet women were still servant to his needs.

The idea I could have a woman on her knees was an exciting thought—almost as much as loving one. I kissed the nape of her neck nonchalantly.

"That reminds me, Vega," she said. "Have you gone to Mass lately?" I hesitated for a moment.

"Yes, Mama." I replied obediently.

"And have you had Confession?"

I thought and twiddled my thumbs for a moment, chewing on my bottom lip.

"I've been so busy taking care of you, Mama-"

"Vega," she chided. "You should never risk your immortal soul for me," she said sternly but I could hear a laugh in her voice. I sighed.

I knew what was in my head and in my heart and only God would know, but dare I say it out loud? I could see her looking at me through the corner of her eye.

"You aren't hiding anything from your Mama, are you?"

"No, I would never hide anything from you! I tell you everything." I said, as sincerely as I could manage.

"Yes, that's true, but sometimes I wonder...we have an awful amount of secrets in this house." I looked at her nervously. What did she know?

"I heard your father fighting with a maid when he came home. Do you know what about?" she asked suddenly.

"N-no, Mama," I lied quickly.

"Hm. Well, it doesn't matter. He just yells anyway." I had to agree with her on that but then, something she said struck me.

"What secrets do _you_ have?" I asked her. She smiled her radiant smile and said,

"We all have our secrets, my dearest. We would not be human if we didn't."

"But, what _kind,_ Mama?" I said, leaning over the tub to look her in the eye. She smiled knowingly at me.

"Vega, they are mine to keep. Just as you have yours to keep," she stroked my face again and I could see she wanted me to understand so that I would stop asking.

_My secrets?_ I thought in horror. _How could she know about my secrets? Are her powers as a mother so great she knows my whole soul? _My panic overthrew me. I moved in front of her and squatted next to the tub, resting my hand on the edge.

"But, Mama, it isn't fair! If you know my soul so well, then why don't I know yours?"

"You are too young to know. I know your soul because you are a part of me. You came from me and I created you. Shouldn't a mother know her own child so well?" I blinked, frustrated, and tried to understand why she was not telling me all I wanted to know. It was not good enough. She sighed and smiled at me, seeing my frustration.

"Fine, do you want to know a secret? I have carried it with me since day you were born," she said. I leaned in closely.

"You are my savior,"

"What?" I shrieked. "Mama..." I murmured.

"I would never have had the will to survive this long if I hadn't had you," she looked at my distraught face.

"You are the only good thing he's ever given me and my only reason for living. You wanted me to leave him, and well, I can't. You know that. The Church forbids it, but as long as I have you, I know I am safe and I know I have love. I will never need for anything else," I bowed my head.

"I'm sorry, Mama.. I-never mind." I said, unable to find the words.

"That _is_ what you wanted to know, isn't it? That you are my only protector, my only _love?_" she asked, and she lifted my chin to look into her gleaming blue eyes.

I looked at her, terrified of the truth and I could not speak. She understood me more than I could ever realize...

"A woman may love her husband very much, Vega. They may even be soul-mates; but a mother secretly loves her child more than anyone else in her life—more than her _own_ life." I felt sick and I rose to my feet, unsure if I would have to run to the toilet or if I would be alright. I leaned against the doorway with my back to her.

"Are you alright, _elmeuamor_?" she asked, seeing me standing there. My mind raced and I braced myself against the doorway with an elbow and held my stomach with the other arm. I could not bear to hear anymore and so, I told her a secret of my own.

"I love you, Mama, and I've decided. I'm going to become a matador."


	4. Into the Bullpen

**DISCLAIMER:**

**This story contains content of a highly disturbing nature that may be offensive to some readers: including abuse, rape, and torture. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended! Vega's life is not a pretty picture! Vega is owned by CAPCOM. For entertainment only.**

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4

She came inside and curtsied before the altar before taking her seat in the pew. She ran her rosary through her fingers and began to pray, in between muffled sobs. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and she lifted her head to look through her lace veil. Wearing her usual black lace veil that she always wore to Mass, she looked more like a woman in mourning than a woman who had come to pray. It was in sharp contrast to her pastel blue dress; she preferred blue, and it matched her eyes. This day was no different.

"Are you all right, Mrs. de Cerna?"

"Oh, Father! Yes, I-I'm fine," and she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Come now, Victoria. I know when someone is in pain." said the priest.

"Father!" she cried suddenly, grabbing the priest's hands. "It-it's my son, Vega! I am worried for him. I…it's this bullfighting! I don't like it!"

"I see," he replied thoughtfully and took a seat next to her in the pew. "Is there any reason you don't like it?" She looked down again.

"He could die! Those bulls are dangerous! I-I couldn't live if he…."

The priest smiled gently.

"Victoria, how long has he been a bullfighter?"

"Well, he's been training since he was 13. I never approved but his father insisted on it."

"And has he ever gotten hurt?"

"I-I don't know… I never attended. I couldn't."

"Your son is one of the fastest rising young matadors in the country! He also has had an amazing record of very few injuries."

She looked up at him in amazement.

"You…?" she gasped.

He chuckled warmly,

"It isn't always about sermons and confessions! I do like to get out and about, you know, and I must say, he is very good." She stood up suddenly.

"But it isn't fair!" she cried. "Father, you have to tell him to stop! He can't take his life in his hands like that. It isn't his life!"

The priest waited for her to continue.

"It's God's! We are His children. Our souls are not ours, nor our bodies nor minds."

"Don't you think you are being a little selfish?"

"Selfish? _Selfish!_ Father, how _dare_ you say such a thing!" she exclaimed.

"Calm yourself, Victoria." said the priest softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "This is the House of God, remember." She clinched her fists tight, gripping her rosary with a death-grip, her body trembled, and she burst into tears again. She stumbled back to the pew with her head in her hands.

"I can't make your son stop doing what he loves, and nor should I. I can only offer my advice." She sniffed and tried to disregard his council but he continued. "Did you ever consider…that it is within God's plan for your son? In that your son would succeed in something that would make him great in some way?" Mother looked at him, the tears sliding down her face, and her lips parted in disbelief.

"Do you really think I would not wish him to succeed? I would never be so cruel! I wish for him everything I never had! I lived through the horrors of General Franco and I had nothing. All I could ever want for him is _everything_." She looked wistful for a moment and smiled. "If only he could have taken up football."

I rushed inside the church, making a quick bow to the altar before walking up to the priest and my mother.

"There you are, Mama!" I cried. I saw her face and how she had been crying.

"Father! What's wrong with her? What happened?" He had a wry smile on his face and sighed.

"Your mother is fine. She was just concerned, that's all." I knelt in front of her and took her hand from her face.

"With who? Me?" I cried. "Mama, please, what's the matter?" she murmured her responses between sobs. I looked back at the priest.

"Father, what did I do?" and then it hit me. I rose slowly.

"Mother! How could you? You are embarrassing me! I told you that I was going to do this no matter what."

"My son, you have great potential!" said the priest warmly.

"I am _the best_, aren't I?" I said with a grin.

"A little humility would suit you, Vega." replied the priest gravely.

"I came here to get advice from the priest," she replied to me finally. Her words were soft and choked by her tears. "And to pray you would not get hurt."

"Why aren't you listening to me? I am the best! The best and that means I won't get hurt! _God_ won't allow it—" I exclaimed, my chest and my ego swelled with pride.

"Vega…" cautioned the priest once more.

I grabbed my mother's wrist and began to drag her towards the exit.

"Let go, Vega! Let go right now!" exclaimed Mother, pulling back.

"We're going, _Mother._" I hissed. The priest stepped between us and tried to force my grip from her wrist.

"Do as she says, Vega. Let go. You can't tell her what to do. 'Thou shalt honor thy Mother…'"

"'Honor?'" I exclaimed, stopping in my tracks. "I _worship_ her!" my eyes flashed intensely as I looked at him and she jerked away angrily. I could see however, that my words did nothing to soothe the priest, who folded his hands before him and regarded me warily.

"She can't make me stop bull fighting! She can't." I cried.

"And he can't make me worry like this! I won't lose my only son! It isn't fair to _me_!" replied Mother.

"Now both of you calm down, please! Vega, can I speak with you a moment?" said the priest, putting his arm around my shoulder and leading me a few steps away from her. The priest rubbed his mouth thoughtfully a moment.

"Vega, have you ever noticed how much time you spend with your mother?"

I knew what he was insinuating and I rolled my eyes. It sounded as if my father had been talking to him lately.

"I do plenty of _other_ things. Besides, I have to take care of her. If I don't, Father _will_." I knew he understood the state of things at home and there was no denying what I meant.

"Yes, I am aware of the awful things your father has done and I have done all I could to help her. I'm afraid I couldn't do more without sanction from the Church."

I glared at him.

"Then, you haven't done enough." I said coldly. I knew I could never turn my back on God, especially since He had given me such wonderful gifts but the Church had failed us. My mother was a model parishioner and a good, obedient Catholic woman to her faith and the Church, and yet she was rewarded with nothing but hate and violence from her husband; a man she swore to love and honor for all of her days, no matter how bad. The Church turned a blind eye to it all. As I grew, so did her bruises and that was when I knew I had to protect her. I would become her savior when no one else would.

I looked at him indignantly, and went to rejoin my mother. I tried to take her hand but she whirled around and slapped me.

"How dare you disrespect me like that, in front of our priest? Before God!"

"Mama-" I stuttered, rubbing my cheek.

"_You_ will not touch me, Vega Fabio de Cerna!"

She walked ahead of me, opening the door to the front seat and she sat next to the driver.

I sighed and sat in the back seat as the window to the front seat closed, blocking her from my view.

I knew then she was angry and that at that moment, there was nothing I could do. Soon, we were back at the mansion and she quietly went to her room, taking off her veil and laying her rosary on her bedside table next to a statuette of the Virgin Mary. I followed after her, to apologize.

She lay on her bed, sulking.

"Mama," I said softly, kneeling at her bedside. She turned her back to me.

"If you want to die by a raging bull, fine. I cannot stop you. Go on! Forsake your Mother, Vega. Go! " she cried, "Get out!" I slowly rose and did as I was told. I shut her door and paused in thought as I rubbed the back of my head with a heavy sigh. _I could never forsake you, Mama..._

I stood at the mirror, brushing my long golden hair and I smiled, admiring myself. The warm sun shone on it through the adjacent window, as it always seemed to and it shined like gold. Carefully, I ran the coarse-bristled brush through my hair, and I savored each stroke. Then I began to work it into a braid. I ran my hand delicately down my face, my fingers tracing each curve, each angle of my flawless face. Yes, my adolescence was kind to me it seems, or shall I say, my skin.

* * *

Today my victory was eminent and I was perfect. This was not just any mirror I stood before, but my mother's. You see, her room had the best lighting and the best mirror for my features and looking my best was always the most of importance to me, especially before a bullfight.

Mother came in, wrapping her arms around my waist, as it was all she could reach, now that I stood nearly a foot taller than her. I looked down at her, which I was used to doing by now, and smiled. Her familiar scent of roses and powder wafted up to my nose.

"_Hola_, Mama."

"Vega, why are you in here? Shouldn't you be in _your_ room getting ready?" she exclaimed warmly.

"Sorry. It's just that your room has much better lighting and it's easier to brush my hair in here." I said.

"Mhm and you've been using _my_ brush I see," she said, picking up the brush and running her fingers over the smooth wood. She turned to me and smiled.

"My, how handsome you are!" and she reached up, standing on her tip-toes to put her hands on my shoulders. I had donned my Matador outfit with one of my most favorite jackets—it was black with gold embroidery and beading. Mama ran her hands down my arms, feeling the texture of the beads and embroidery work. She wrapped her arms around me and laid her head against my chest with a sigh and I held her tight.

"Do you think I am beautiful?" I asked as I gazed down at her.

"Yes, yes you are my beautiful, beautiful boy!" my heart pounded a little in my chest to hear her say that, as she had said it a thousand times before.

"Do you think I am a _god_?" I asked, my pulse seeming to raise, my eyes flashed. My lips could not hide such irresistible pride. She stared up at me a moment, somewhat perplexed, and reached to stroke my face.

"No, Vega. You are _Apollo, Adonis, Narcissus_ himself, my darling, but you are _not_ a god. " I sighed in annoyance. She had already said it once before but now she chooses to ignore it? _Now, _of all times when I was the most perfect being standing before that mirror and she denies it! How could I tell her it would never be enough to hear such perfection come from such a beautiful, perfect creature as herself. For I knew I was as beautiful as she, and she as beautiful as me. The only possible person to ever be more beautiful than myself...

"Will you go watch me today?" I asked.

"No, Vega," and her expression now looked more serious.

"But Mama, you must!" I cried impetuously. She scoffed,

"_Ai_, I don't know why your father insisted you be involved in something so-so..._barbaric_! He wants to turn my son into a _monster_!"

I smirked,

"Mama, do I _look_ like a monster?" I saw the worry and the guilt slowly creeping across her face.

"No..." she replied quietly, staring down at the floor. I smiled, swallowing a laugh, and I flipped my long braid behind my shoulder. I took her hand and moved behind her, moving my hand to her shoulder.

"Come with me," I whispered. "Please, please, _please_!" I pleaded with her impishly, and I nuzzled against the nape of her neck. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to slink away from me. I was beginning to feel impatient and I turned her to face me.

"Mama, I want you to come." I said gravely, stroking her cheek. She began to shake her head and I held her chin. "I won't take 'No' for an answer!" I searched her face, her eyes, frantically waiting for her to respond. "I _need_ you." I said, and she gasped, her mouth sputtering but said nothing. She frantically shook her head, tears beginning to form in her eyes and fall down her perfectly pale skin. I rubbed them away roughly with my thumbs.

"I can't," she cried and closed her eyes, trying to make her fear go away. I held her for a moment, trying to make her stop crying—I could not bear to see her crying, for any reason. "_She _will be there, with _him._.." she murmured and I sighed heavily, my temper growing.

"And what if you got hurt? I-I...I couldn't live if you...I just couldn't!"

My father was a bastard but he always attended my bull fights. I don't know why he loved them so much, but he did. I suppose it was all the violence involved that excited him, as violence often seemed to and of course, he always strung along a young pretty woman. Now this young pretty woman was his Italian whore. A girl only a few years older than myself. She was said to be the highest paid courtesan in the country!  
Father assumed I did not know about her but I had been watching them together in the house for months. I only stayed quiet for Mama's sake, though I knew she knew and it put a knife in her heart.

"Oh my sweet mother," I cooed seductively in her ear, and my blood began to rise.

"Please Vega, please. Respect my wishes, respect _me_. I don't want to go," she moaned as she held onto me, her voice muffled against my shoulder. I could feel her trembling slightly.

I grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the wall next to her mirror. She let out a surprised yelp.

"This isn't about you!" I hissed. "It is about _me_!" her eyes regarded me tearfully with shock and fear.

"Don't you want to see that your son, your Adonis—your _savior—_succeed? To see them worship me as I know you do..." she was still quiet, save but to whimper.

"Come with me, and I swear—_I swear_—I will make them worship you as they worship me. All my glory will be yours!" I felt her writhing beneath my grasp and her expression turned to anger.

"God damn you, Vega!" she screamed. "Look what _he's_ done to you!"

Angrily, I threw her back and she landed against the side of her bed, mostly cushioning her fall. She gasped and stood up slowly, glaring at me as she wept. My chest was heaving and I went to the mirror to smooth my hair and check my face. I then went and knelt before her, holding her so she would not fall.

Mama slapped me across the face with a furious cry and I raised my hand reflexively. She flinched and cowered down. I could feel my heart dropping into my stomach and I reached to touch her, but she pushed me away, and I fell to my side. My face still stung with the impact of her blow and I glanced in the mirror over my shoulder to see the red mark forming across my face, and then to my mother, who was still crying and trembling.

I ran into her bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to make it come off the hinges. I turned on the faucet and splashed the cool water over my face. I looked into the mirror. I smashed it with my fist, and I felt warm, angry tears falling down my face. I wiped them away with my sleeve and came out of the bathroom, quietly. Mother stood up slowly, cautiously, and I could see her fear.

Suddenly she gasped and ran to me, taking my hand in hers. It was not until I looked down I saw that I was bleeding...

I studied my hand, and small rivers of red that ran down it, dripping to the floor. I brought it to my lips and licked it. Appalled, Mama covered her mouth with her hand. I smirked at her expression.

"It's only blood, Mother." I said calmly.

I could taste the warm, bitter liquid on the tip of my tongue, tangy and almost sweet. I looked at my mother and I wondered for just a moment what she would taste like. I licked my lips in thought, and she shone like an angel in the afternoon light.

_Such beauty must make you taste so sweet..._

"Vega," said Mother, her voice raised in concern, disturbing me from my thoughts. "We-we have to fix your hand, dear," she said softly, but I could still hear the wariness in her voice. We went into the bathroom so she could dress it. She looked at me seriously as she wrapped some gauze around it.

"Do you think they'll let you fight today?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe...I _am_ their star, you know..." and I grinned and she nodded quietly, looking down as she worked. She wrapped it firmly around my hand and I winced. I felt the warmth of her hand covering the bandage and she looked back at me, still the uneasiness showing in her eyes, mixed with her motherly concern for my well-being.

"My baby," she whispered wistfully, kissing my bandaged hand. I studied her face a moment and then smiled.

"I'll be _okay_, Mama." I reassured her, standing quickly before she even finished tying the bandage. I grabbed her hand and we hurried out the door.

The fight was the best yet, and knowing my mother was there, watching me from some of the best seats, made me even happier. She sat through the fight anxiously, biting her lip and gripping the end railing in front of her. Once I was able to glance back at her, to see her crossing herself with her rosary. I do not know many more times she had done it during the fight—I am not even certain she was watching if she was so busy with her rosary!

The crowd cheered as I stood before the fallen bull, a rain of red roses fell upon me. I smiled and waved to the thronging crowd. Mama stood from her seat in the front of the area and watched, though she did not smile.

"Vega! Vega!" people screamed at me, in an echoing ocean of sounds. I saw the lights flashing as a million cameras seemed to go off at once. I saw Mama standing motionless in the bleachers and I knew this would not do. I grabbed her hand and she let out a cry as I lifted her onto my shoulder.

"Vega! What are you doing?" she cried. I swung her around with a smile.

"Vega, do you have a moment?" said a member of the press. "Who is she?"

"Who's that woman?" a collective echo among the crowd.

Mother looked around frantically, overwhelmed by the millions of people who seemed to descend upon me. I smiled and waved to the crowd as photographers scrambled to get me to look their way. I lifted Mama off my shoulder and held her against me proudly. I kissed her cheek, looking at the camera from the corner of my eye. Then I caught a rose that came my way and handed it to her.

"_She_ is my mother!" I said and the crowd cheered again.

"Mrs. de Cerna, over here, over here!" they cried. She looked at me, her blue eyes blazing.

"See, Mama...I told you they would want you." I whispered with a grin. "Look how those lights flash. They want you!" she blushed.

"No, Vega. They want _you_. You are the star; I'm just your mother." she said quietly.

"_The Holy Virgin_ was not just any mother. She gave birth to the Lord Himself! For this, we praise her. You gave birth to _me_! You gave me _life—_tell me why you are not as important as I!" She looked at me and tried to smile, though uncomfortably.

"No. I want them to see you." I said, taking her hand and leading her to the center of the arena, taking a bow. She seemed to be suddenly mesmerized by all the flashing lights, staring into their abyss.

"You wore heels and pearls in your hospital bed, Mother. Don't tell me you don't like looking good. You _want_ them to see you, the same as they see me and you always have! Where do you think I've learned to take such pride in my appearance? Look at them with their flashing lights, and this shower of roses." I exclaimed, turning to her, "They are a mirror for us—a mirror, showing us the truth of our beauty." I caressed her cheek lovingly, and she took my hand, squeezing it tight, smiling finally.

"Yes, beauty is the only truth in this world."

From that moment on, I knew that's how I would live my life—in beauty. Those who did not, were not worthy of life.


	5. And Out into the Night

She regarded me anxiously as I entered her room.

"You look beautiful, Mama!" I exclaimed; I smiled and kissed her cheeks ceremoniously.

She held the sides of her gown and looked away, her beautiful figure draped in a shimmery pale blue dress; a full skirt with a layer of shimmering opaque fabric on top. It had an off-the-shoulder bodice and exposed the pale olive-colored flesh of her décolletage, though it was not enough to be immodest; my mother, though she loved beauty and fashion, was often humble of her own appearance.

Her hair was done up in a chignon, curled tendrils of her golden blonde hair framed the sides of her face. She often wore it up, but now she wore a tiara and a diamond-studded barrette was on one side. Her blue eyes sparkled and gleamed like the diamond-studded jewelry she wore on her neck and her ears.

Tonight once again was the Ambassador's Ball and a million frightening memories ran through her mind. After all, it had been 3 years since that horrid night when Father had so brutally raped and beaten her in front of me, and 3 years since she had attended the very same grand ball, held each year by the Ambassador of Spain. She was so frightened by that night that she never wanted to go again but I knew this time would be different. This time, I could protect her.

I took her hands in mine to calm her and she clutched them tight, her eyes flashing as her mind raced. Finally, she spoke.

"Vega, I don't want go," she said uneasily. Her red lips quivered as she forced herself to smile at me, her only son. Their redness reflected on her skin with the warm glow of the lamp and the cool wash of the moon shining behind her. Her cheeks glowed softly red, flushed with color and then paled again.

"It's all right, Mother. I am stronger now, I can protect you." I said and her frantic eyes seemed to read the proud assurance that gleamed in mine. She swallowed hard, no doubt fighting back her tears and yet, she smiled.

"Besides, Mother, I think it's time all those men in their tuxes and medals saw you. They need to see the beautiful woman they can't _have_, and Father needs to see the beautiful woman he doesn't _deserve_." She shut her eyes tight, pursing her lips, holding back her tears as best she could and then, she opened them.

With a trembling soft voice, she exclaimed,

"Oh! You look so handsome!" and she laid a hand on my arm.

I looked back in her mirror and then at her and I straightened my black tuxedo jacket with a proud nod. I did not prefer tuxes, and I was positive no other man did either. Still, I was dressed my best for this formal occasion, in a typical black tuxedo with white dress-shirt; my hair pulled back more tightly than usual into a long, blonde braid that hung down my back. Only scarce tendrils of my hair hung around my face.

"Shall we go, Mother?" I said, offering her my arm. She took her arm in mine and I could feel her trembling.

She looked at me, still quite unsure one last time as we headed out the door, and as she looked at me, I felt as though she had forgotten who I was for just a moment. Was I her son or her guard, I did not know. I was unusually tall for my age of 16 now, standing at nearly 6 feet tall, a full foot taller than my mother! Now, I was poised to guard her with my life and I held myself with all the confidence of an older man.

Mother and Father always took separate cars to events but always arrived together. It was a well-known secret in society. I was glad, as I did not think the two of them would live in the same space for long. We approached the Ambassador's mansion, and waited in the corridor to be announced.

"don Miguel Fabio de Cerna Domingo, the baron of Catalonia, and his wife doña Victoria Maria de Cerna y la Serda, the baroness of Catalonia; their son, don Vega Fabio de Cerna y la Serda." said the usher as my parents walked slowly down the red carpeted steps, arm in arm. I followed quickly behind, a proud smile on my face. As they broke away, Father shot an icy glare and held firm to her elbow.

"Don't wander far, _dear," _he growled. She quickly cast her eyes down and moved to the opposite side of the room. I stood next to her for comfort. I began to scan the room for suitable girls to talk to and maybe, do _other_ things with later...

"Don't worry, Mama," I said as I scanned the room. I started to move toward the dance floor where the guests were congregating and Mother grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. Worry was on her face.

"Please don't leave me here," she pleaded.

"It's alright, Mother. I won't let the naughty men hurt you," I teased.

"It's-it's not the men I'm afraid of…" she stammered. She had absolutely no sense of humor when she was frightened!

I pulled her almost forcefully along, walking among the crowd of people.

"How nice to see you again, Mrs. de Cerna!" they exclaimed as we passed by. The crowd of people seemed to blur into a sea, their voices swirled around us. I looked ahead and saw my father and his mistress. He did not see us but his mistress caught me with a wink and swiftly turned him away so he would not see us as we passed. She and I had an uneasy peace in our house. My father openly flaunted her, making sure my mother knew she was in the house just to torment her.

We seemed to wander aimlessly among the people, not finding a single suitable person with whom to talk. Every now and again, handsome men would glance at my mother and give her a charming smile. She would smile back and turn away, like a shy girl.

Deeper and deeper we seemed go into the ocean of people and until we stopped in the corner of the room.

"Oh, Vega, why have we come?" she moaned, "It is only another excuse for him to lose his temper!"

"Because, Mother. You are a woman in society and society women have to make an appearance, don't they?" I said matter-of-factually and she knew it was true.

"I suppose…" said Mother, with a far off look in her eye, humoring me like a contemptuous child.

"And besides, you know as well as I do that Father doesn't need an excuse to lose his temper."

"Oh I always hated going to these things, you know! Your father only goes to get in good graces with the King and the Prime Minister."

"I thought he spoke often with His Majesty?" I exclaimed. "He talks as if he knows the King personally,"

"The truth is His Majesty cannot stand your father!" She said with a laugh.

"And how did you know that?"

"I overheard the King once at another political event I was forced to attend!" She said with a wink. "Our country has struggled much over the years in the arms of its leaders, and while your father might brag, he really has very little political influence left anymore."

"Yes, I know." I said with a sigh. "Shall we dance?" I asked taking her hand as a waltz began to play in the background.

She hesitated to move.

"Do you remember the steps I taught you, Vega?" she asked, as I took her hand in mine and wrapped the other delicately around her waist.

"Yes, Mother, very well." I replied as we began to move.

I felt her body tense as she pressed her cheek against my shoulder; I could smell the light scent of her powder and perfume.

"Relax," I whispered in her ear. "Let them see you." She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut.

"You can do this. You taught me, remember."

"That has nothing to do with it." she murmured and she inhaled deeply and sighed.

I felt her body finally relax as she posed herself elegantly, her arm bent and hand on my shoulder, lightly touching; she felt delicate in my arms. Mother smiled as we picked up the pace a little and I could see a light in her eyes that was no longer fearful. She seemed younger than she was just dancing with me, as if every turn and every step could erase the lines on her face, the scars on her body, and the fear in her heart.

Mother tipped back her head at each turn to strike a pose, and she began to laugh. This was something I had seen so little of but now she seemed to be a new woman. I could not help but to smile seeing the joy that spread across her face, an angelic glow all around her. The room spun around us and I held her tight. And then, the song was over. Holding fast to my shoulders, she fell forward against me, out of breath and still laughing. She wobbled on her high heels.

"I haven't had so much fun in such a long time!" she exclaimed, "thank you."

As my mother steadied on her feet again, I whispered,

"See, I told you. I knew you would be all right. Now they have all seen you and now they will all want to dance with you!" Mother grinned now, almost glowing.

Suddenly, the Ambassador approached us with another man.

"_Buenas noches_." said the Ambassador as he took my mother's hand and I frowned.

"Ambassador!" exclaimed Mother, emphatically striking her chest with her hand in surprise. I could not tell if she was merely exaggerating or if she was that surprised to see him.

"_Señora de Cerna_, such a pleasure to see you here again. You know, we have wondered where you have been for the last 3 three years. Certainly, you are one of the loveliest baronesses in this country!" Mother blushed and looked down as if she were a coy girl. I bit my bottom lip and continued to watch this dignitary closely.

"_Encantada, Señor_," she replied softly.

"Good to see you again, Vega." beamed the Ambassador. "_Señora Victoría_, have you met Baron Gualdera?" A handsome man, about the same age as Mother, stepped forward. He had dark hair and eyes, like most in Spain it seemed. I wondered where he was from.

"Pleased to meet you, _Señora_ de Cerna. I am Baron Marc Antoní Gualdera." And he took my mother's hand and kissed it. He caught my stern glance and smiled at me as he looked up from her hand.

"Uh-Ambassador, Baron, this is my son, Vega." said mother, laying a hand on my shoulder and gesturing towards me with the other.

"Ah, yes, Vega! It is an honor to see you again!" replied the Ambassador, shaking my hand. He beamed proudly at me. "I often attend your fights and I must say you are very good for your age! How old are you now? Eight-teen? Twenty?" I chuckled.

"No, I am 16."

"Oh of course! It must be your height that makes you seem so much older." I sighed and smirked.

"It's all right. I get that often from people."

"You _have_ to tell me all about your last bullfight! I am dying to hear," exclaimed the Ambassador warmly as he laid a hand on my shoulder.

The baron laid his hand on my mother's arm.

"_Señora de Cerna_, you are very lovely. Would you like something to drink?" he asked her. Again I saw her cheeks flush pink against her pale skin and then I saw a look of terror suddenly come back into her eyes, as if something startled her.

"N-no, thank you, Baron. It is very kind of you…" he smiled and bought my mother's hand to his lips. She pulled it away before he could kiss it.

"Baron, _Si us plau_, _perdona._" He looked quite distraught at her reaction.

"Are you okay_, Señora de Cerna_? Have I said something to offend you?"

"I-I am fine," she stammered.

She smiled weakly in reassurance, the usual smile she had when she was sad or scared, and it hardly did anything to hide her feelings. She of course smiled often this night and I knew the reasons.

I knew she could feel my father's eyes boring into the back of her head and I looked quickly over my shoulder, but he was not there. It did not matter, though. His dominion over her was nearly omnipotent. She feared his wrath and we knew it was imminent.

I could not help to notice the young Baron, how handsome and beautiful he was—he was nearly as beautiful as me—still, I knew the look in his eyes; it was a predatory look of hunger and he was looking at _my_ mother.

I shifted uncomfortably as I listened to the Ambassador ramble on about his praises of me and normally, I would have devoted my full attentions to such a thing, but any moment now, that Baron would _have_ my mother and I could not allow it.

"Mother, are you all right?" I whispered, trying to break her focus on the man.

"Yes, Dear. I'm fine." she replied. She looked at me and I could see the fear still on her face.

"Are you certain? I can get you something to drink. You look as though you need it." Offered the baron once more, hoping to change her fearful expression. A smile spread slowly across her face.

"Yes, please," she replied as she took his arm. The Baron winked at me as they found the refreshment table. I watched them carefully, each gesture and movement made. They seemed to laugh and smile at each other, my mother occasionally placing her hand lightly on his arm. I scowled and bit my lip.

"You know, _Señora_ de Cerna, I would have never guessed you were Vega's mother!" said the baron as he scooped up some punch for my mother. She blushed and covered her mouth, only half-hiding her smile.

"Please…" she said modestly.

"Ay, on the blood of my mother, I swear, his older sister, maybe…but one such as you never looks as though you should be a mother."

"And what should a mother look like then?" she asked, bemused. "Older?" she said with a grin.

He smiled, admonishing to her advances.

"_Ay_, please, _Señora_! I cannot be held responsible for what you say." And she giggled.

"It must be so nice having such a caring son!" he said, looking at me through the corner of his eye.

"Oh, ah, yes—"

"He must make you feel so loved, so…_safe_." And as the baron spoke, she turned to him sharply.

"What do you mean, Baron?" she asked, her voice lowered in suspicion. He laid his hand on her arm gently and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Oh now, _Señora_. Why do you startle so?" he said gently and she looked down in shame.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, looking up at him again nervously.

"Well, he's a bright boy, you know and his talents are to be admired by all. Still, I see nothing wrong with him being a Mama's-boy."

"_Mama's-boy_?" she exclaimed with a chuckle, "He is no such thing! He is strong and brave, very independent. He doesn't need me…" and she trailed off, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

Taking a sip of his drink and sensing this, he leaned forward to whisper into her ear.

"Boys will _always_ need their mothers. When you danced, it was easy to see the love he has for you." She smiled uneasily and then he spoke again aloud.

"You know, when they told us you had fallen down your staircase 3 years ago, we worried about you! We were told you would not walk again."

She gasped and he leaned in close to her face and stroked it gently.

"I know what happened…" he whispered and Mother's eyes filled with panic. "I want to help you."

"No, it isn't so!" she cried in alarm.

The baron cupped her jaw in his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"It is not just a shadow in the light that shows under your eye," and he rubbed over a darkened bruise on her cheek gently once more. "Only so much powder can cover such a mark on your lovely skin," and she covered her eyes in terror.

"No, please don't," she moaned from beneath her hands.

"No, no, _Señora_, don't be afraid," he said smoothly as he lifted her hands from her face.

"Come away with me."

"Baron," she said, her tone dropping seriously. "I am a married woman!"

"Ah yes, but you do not love him…" he asserted smugly.

"I've only just met you! I can't do such a thing, and I would never leave my son!"

"You don't have to leave him. He can come too, certainly."

"Baron…"

I sighed heavily and clenched my fists watching the horrid display before me.

"I wouldn't worry much about Señor Gauldera, Vega." said the Ambassador suddenly and I turned to him.

"He's always quite the charmer with women, especially at these events, and your mother _is_ quite lovely…" he explained as I looked to see the Ambassador staring at her.

"Excuse me, _Ambassador_," I said sharply, "but she is _my_ mother." and with that, I proceeded to the refreshment table. I approached as briskly as I could and I seemed to startle them as they turned to me.

"Oh, hello, dear! Are you thirsty?" asked Mother, her cheeks flushed.

"No, I'm fine, but you look like _you _need a drink though, _Mother_." I said bitterly and she gasped.

"Vega—" she exclaimed angrily at my insinuation.

The baron cleared his throat at the tense situation and then gestured towards me with a grin.

"You know, you're very good for your age, I think!"

"What?" I cried as I was so focused on his attentions to my mother that I did not see that he had turned to me.

"Bullfighting, of course!"

I saw my mother sigh and roll her eyes but she said nothing. I knew how she felt about the matter of course; at least she had the sense not to bring it up in front of the man.

"So you've said," I replied bitterly, the bile beginning to rise in my throat. I did my best to swallow it down again.

"_Señora_ de Cerna, will you please excuse us a moment? I'd like to have a chat with your son."

"Of course." she replied with a smile.

The baron draped his arm around my shoulder and we walked in the opposite direction from my mother, walking nowhere in particular. We seemed to walk for a few minutes before we spoke.

"Vega, I see a lot of potential for you." he said after a silence.

"What do you mean?"

"Vega, have you heard of cage fighting?" I stopped and turned towards him.

"Cage fighting? What about it?" I exclaimed and he chuckled.

"Do you know of _Savate_?"

"Yes, French kick-boxing." I replied, he smiled and patted my shoulder. It was a crude form of boxing adapted by men on the streets of Paris through out the 18th century. It had since spread throughout parts of my country and other parts of Europe.

"You think I could be a cage fighter?" I asked, my interest beginning to peak.

"I'll be honest with you, Vega. I have never in all my years of witnessing bullfights seen anyone with as much power and grace as you. Such beauty is rare among those in your art!" I rolled my eyes. As much as I enjoyed his appeals to my ego, he had a blatantly obnoxious quality that bothered me.

"Baron, I appreciate your—" and I paused for the right word, "_enthusiasm_ but, I don't see—"

"I would sponsor you!" he interjected eagerly and I blinked for a moment in shock.

"Besides, call me Marc Antoni. 'Baron' is so formal and it and we don't really use it these days." I nodded in agreement.

It was true; in recent years, losing a dictator and regaining a king did nothing to bolster the power or prestige of having a title of nobility. My family kept their title and my father was very proud of his heritage, but I always knew he had ties to the _Generalissimo's_ _Regime_. Now the Ambassador was a long-winded man, full of pompous prestige that came with his title. Addressing Señor Gauldera as a Baron only seemed fitting to him.

"You want to sponsor me?"I asked, gesturing to myself.

"I would train you!" he exclaimed.

"Train me? Sponsor me?" I exclaimed. "Baron—_pues,_ Marc Antoni," I corrected myself, "are you telling me that _you_ know _Savate_?"

"Yes! I learned it when I was your age, actually. Kept me quite fit and I loved the challenge! Ay, there's nothing like the rush you get in defeating your opponent!"

"I know the feeling. Nothing's more exhilarating than out-witting a bull." I agreed and he smirked at me. I must say that even as I said it, comparing the defeat of a bull to that of a person started to seem no longer as exciting.

"Out-witting? Is that how you see it, Vega?"

"Yes, bulls are dumb, brutish animals and I am a man. I am smarter and more handsome than it, and it is my right to conquer such a dumb, ugly animal." I replied. I gazed across the room and he followed my gaze to my father. "Ugliness is a sin, an _abomination_ before God." I said resolutely. Señor Gaudera nodded knowingly and I looked at him, my eyes flashing passionately.

"Don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes, I do, but there is so much ugliness in the world, Vega! Why do you suppose that He allows it to exist?"

"I don't know but I know one thing: I'll never be ugly. Never."

"No, you won't, and judging by the press, bulls are not thing only thing you conquer!" he said with a chuckle.

"With my strength and agility, my beauty, all women want me. I have as many as I want and what I cannot have, I _take._"

"My, Vega!" he exclaimed, "and how do they like it when you _take_ them?" I could hear the perversion dripping in his voice, a wicked grin on his face.

"Well, let's just say that the scars on my back are not from the bulls!" I replied with a smug grin.

True he did not have to know that half of those scars were from the ever frequent violent skirmishes with my father as of late.

"A real lady-killer you are! What would your mother think?" he teased and I whirled around.

"She doesn't know and she doesn't _need_ to know. My mother doesn't concern you!" I hissed angrily. He put his hands up defensively.

"Easy now, boy. I was only kidding. God knows that it would break a mother's heart to know half the things her son does without her knowledge!"

"And you! What do you know about my mother, hm? Are you seducing her with your charm, ready to catch her when you sweep her off her feet?" I sneered. The baron, still raising his hands stood as he sputtered before me.

"I meant no harm! It was only a little harmless flirting!" he exclaimed.

"I saw you: the way you touched her face and leaned in close to whisper in her ear, smelling her perfume!" I spat.

The baron stifled a laugh and raised his eyebrows, suddenly no longer threatened by me.

"Why? Isn't that what _you_ do with all the girls that _you_ seduce? Tell me, have you smelt her perfume?" he said as he finally released the laugh he held. "You know, I've heard what they say about you and your mother..." he said, his words dripping from his mouth like venom. I could feel my blood boiling, and he made it boil almost as much as my father did.

"You know nothing! Nothing!" I screamed angrily.

The baron seemed amused at my anger.

"Vega, a temper like yours is going to get you in trouble." he said ever so smugly.

I wanted nothing to do with this man and his smugness, or his intentions with my mother. I wanted now just to wipe the smile from his face with my fist.

I threw a punch at his face and to my surprise, he blocked it with his arm and I suddenly felt his other fist connect with the edge of my mouth. Before I knew what happened, I fell to the floor as he swept his leg underneath me. Holding the side of my mouth and horrified at the blood, I looked up at the smiling baron.

"You bastard! My face! My beautiful face!" I roared as I sat up on my elbows.

I could taste some of my blood in my mouth, the same bittersweet tanginess I had savored much as of late; though it did not taste as sweet, and I knew it was the taste of my own defeat.

His dark eyes twinkled as he smirked at me.

"This is your first lesson, Vega." he said, offering his hand. I refused to take it and a shocked crowd began to gather around us. "And- I was also going to say: that I knew it wasn't true…about you and your mother, but _someone's_ temper got the better of them…" he whispered through his hand and he smiled at me with a wink. I saw his dark eyes glinting with some sort of mischief as I felt my cheeks flush and burn with humiliation.

"Vega!" I heard the shrill cry of my mother as she broke through the crowd. She gasped as she saw me on the ground and tried to help me up. I was not about to be embarrassed by her though, and I reluctantly grabbed the baron's extended hand as he pulled me back up again. I tried to straighten my tux and the baron handed me his handkerchief. I wiped the corner of my mouth and frowned at the sight of my own blood staining his pure white handkerchief.

"_Déu meu!_ Vega, you are bleeding! Señor Gauldera, what have you done to my son?" she demanded, gently examining my mouth and then glaring at the man.

"I-I am very sorry, _Señora_. I didn't mean to hurt the boy. I was merely showing him some of my skill as a fighter." apologized the baron but at the mention of fighting, she scowled at him even more. I saw a fierceness emerge from her that I had so rarely seen in her growing up. It was not often she was brave enough to defend herself, let alone _me_. Her blue eyes flashed with anger and I felt her grab my arm tightly.

"Mother, I'm alright!" I protested, but it went unheard.

"He will have none of it! _None of it!_ Do you understand, Baron?" she hissed.

"_Sí, Señora _de Cerna_._ I beg you will forgive me." said the baron with his eyes downcast and I believe he trying to show her he was truly sorry, but I alone could see the cold smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth; the same place where mine now bled.

Mother led me firmly by the arm now and I could not stop her.

"Mother, please! Stop!" I cried helplessly, nearly being dragged away. She was headed to the back of the room, towards an alcove with two large white marble pillars on either side. Adjacent to this were large French doors that held the corridor to the coat room—and the back exit. I had spent a lot of time in this alcove and even in the coat room seducing girls before this. It was also where my father liked to take his mistress to be alone…

"We are going home. _Now_." she said in a tone that I knew I could not deny. I finally freed myself from her grasp, standing in front of her so she could not leave. I held the handkerchief to my mouth, frowning contemptuously. Mother reached up and brushed hair from my face and looked at my mouth once more. She sighed heavily.

"Oh my precious _Narcís_, what have you gotten yourself into these days?" I removed the handkerchief from my mouth and she reached to touch it. _Narcís_ was a nickname she had taken to bestowing upon me with mild amusement towards my growing concerns with my appearance. It meant  
"Narcissus" in Catalan and I believe it had a far better sound than the original name.

"May I use your compact, Mama? Please tell me you have it with you!" I cried desperately.

She smiled and shook her head, digging through her purse for her mirror and then she handed it to me. I touched my mouth and admired my face, ensuring no other damage had been done.

"What's going on back here?" said my father's gruff voice as we turned to see him coming towards us with his mistress hanging on his arm. Mother stepped behind me.

"That's right, Victoria. Hide behind your Nancy-boy..." he sneered and he ripped the handkerchief from my hands and I felt my stomach lurch at his slur of me.

"What's this, boy? I heard you were fighting, with Marc Antoní Gauldera!" I glared at him and tried to control myself long enough to speak.

"Yes..." I murmured.

"He's the wrong man to fight. He is an accomplished fighter already. You ought to be beat just for losing! No son of mine is a loser in this house!" he exclaimed.

"Leave him alone, Miguel! He's had enough punishment for one night! We're going home!" exclaimed Mother, bravely stepping forward. Father had a cruel smirk on his face as he approached her.

"Look at you, Victoria! One night at a dance and you've suddenly forgotten your place! We'll soon have to fix that!"

I could see the panic spreading across her face as she stepped back from him. I could smell alcohol on his breath, though I knew he did not need any to be cruel.

"_Signore_, I think you've had a bit too much tonight." chimed in his Mistress, peering from behind his shoulder. He immediately backhanded her face and she went flying to the ground.

"Silence, bitch! You do not tell me what to do!" he roared at her as she was sprawled out on the floor. She nodded obediently as he pulled her up by the arm.

"_Señor_, is there a problem?" asked an usher, alarmed by all the commotion and my father whirled around. The usher stepped back, somewhat frightened by his abrupt demeanor.

"Sir, others saw the commotion and were concerned. This kind of thing isn't tolerated here and we'll have to ask you to leave..."

"_Leave?_" hissed Father almost shrilly, his tone rising. "I was invited by the Ambassador himself! I will not _leave!_ And I assure you there's no problem. Only...a _misunderstanding_." he said coldly as he looked back at us with a rather sinister glare. The usher nervously cleared his throat.

"I see. Sir, if you would please come with me. The Ambassador wishes to speak with you," he said, gesturing in front of him.

"The Ambassador! I haven't spoken with him all night! Please, lead the way!" exclaimed Father rather boisterously, his tone suddenly changed. I watched his mistress give me a rather helpless glance over his shoulder as he dragged her along by her arm. I felt Mother shaking as she pressed her face against my back and I knew she was crying. I turned and held her against my chest, her head neatly fitting under my chin. I rubbed and patted her back and she clutched my braid.

"I hate him..." she sobbed. "I hate him."

"So do I, Mama." I said softly as I gently pried her fingers from my hair and I could feel my body begin to tense with anger again. I bit my lip as I tried to push the recent embarrassment of my mother's interference away but it was no use. Her treatment of me was becoming increasingly unbearable and I tried to ignore the fact that her blackened tears were soon going to stain my clean white dress-shirt.

I sat in the back of the car next to her as we returned home that night, and she squeezed my hand with a far-off gaze.

"Mama," I said.

"Hm?" she said without batting an eye.

"What would you say if I promised to protect you?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"If I knew how to protect you, would you let me?"

"I-I still don't understand, Vega."

"Mama," I said seriously, looking at her and I shook her hand gently. "I can protect you."

She looked at me, her blue eyes confused and somewhat terrified.

"I'm going to learn to fight." I replied.

"What? No!" she cried, "I forbid it!" I laughed and shook my head.

"No, you won't. I'll do it anyway." Her eyes widened and she sputtered.

"Vega de Cerna, you-you will respect me!" she cried angrily. "I _forbid_ you."

"Respect you? Respect you?" I shrieked mockingly, "Respect you like Father does?" I sneered, grabbing her shoulders. "Oh! Like when he 'respects' you so much he beats you for _not_ respecting _him_!" and as I shook her she began to cry. I raised my hand and she cowered as she cried; but instead slapping her, I laid the back of my hand against her cheek gently, wiping her blackened tears. I leaned in close to her ear and said,

"_I_ would never hit you, Mama. I _do_ respect you. I love you. You should never fear the ones you love." I said as I took her hand from her face and she looked at me slowly. I took her hand in mine once more.

"I don't want you to be afraid anymore."

"And I don't want you to be like your father!" she cried tearfully. I grimaced at the thought; how could she possibly think I would become as ugly as he? It insulted me every time she accused me of being like Father whenever I found a new pursuit that she disagreed with. I sighed and rolled my eyes at her and I felt my blood beginning to boil.

"Learning how to defend myself does _not_ make me like him. I hate it when you compare me, Mother-and-and dragging me out of that room like I was some…_child_! Seriously, Mother!" I scoffed.

"I-I don't want you to get hurt and besides, you _are_ a child. You are _my_ child." she said, sniffing.

"A child?" I cried with a laugh. "That's not what you think of me when you look up at me with such fear in your eyes and I have to hold you until you stop shaking-"

_How could he speak to me this way? _She thought frantically. _He's become so cruel lately. I don't think I can bear this much longer._

"Stop!" she interjected tearfully, grabbing my arm desperately, but I continued.

"That's not what you think of me when I sleep beside you each night, protecting you from the dark and those things that come in it—the very thing you should have been saving me from—I've felt his blows too, Mama. Or have you forgotten that I was not always your savior? Have you forgotten that it was _me _whom you had to protect when I was a child?" I said, squeezing her shoulder, trying to make her look at me but she refused. Mother bit her lip and hugged her arms and I could see her muscles tensing, her knuckles whitening by the minute.

_I never knew how much he resented me. What have I done to him? He can't be speaking like this._

"No..no...no..." she wailed. _He can't know the truth...I never meant..._

"No, Mama. You don't want a child, no, no. You want a _man_, don't you? A big, handsome strong man to protect you; keep you warm, keep you safe...you wanted-"

_No! He isn't! What is he saying? That I? Oh no. I suppose I have depended on him too long, but to have those feelings...does he truly understand what that means? I could never have those kinds of feelings for him...could I? Oh, dear God, if he should want me... He has to stop this!_

"Stop it, Vega!" she cried again. I grinned smug in my righteousness and my blue eyes flashed.

"..._Me_," I whispered, a wicked grin spread across my face, and I watched her gasp and sputter in horror of the truth. She seemed to tremble even more than before as I continued my ruthless tirade. "You were so helpless back then when you asked for my help; I helped dress you, I bathed your wounds. Do you think that is something that a _child_ should do?" My righteousness indignation was only eclipsed by the delight I took in making her suffer for her sins.

_Oh he's so cruel! Can't he see that he's hurting me? Stop!_

"_Basta ya_!" she screamed, covering her mouth. _Stop! _Her thoughts and her words now echoed loudly in her mind. Mama had never screamed like that before and I stared at her in stunned silence and after an awkward pause, she continued. "I saw what happened to you tonight. Bullfighting, fighting. Why must you be involved in such dangerous activities?"

"Because are they are _fun_, Mother! Something I don't think you know much about these days; and besides, I am doing it for _you_!" I sneered.

"You are not, Vega de Cerna! You are doing it for yourself. _Ay_, what a _selfish_ son I have."

I snickered again.

"Selfish!" I cried, "_You_ are the selfish one. You are the one trying to keep me from enjoying myself!"

_I could never be so selfish! A mother could never see her son die. I wish you could understand...If I lost you, my heart would die. How then would I be able to survive around that monster without you? I cannot live without you... _she thought.

She continued hugging herself and she stared out the window. I wondered what she could possibly see, trying to stare out a blackened window in the middle of the night.

"Mama, do you have any idea how much I make as a matador? Not only that—_the_ top matador in all Spain? I make enough to buy anything I want and still have more than enough to treat you as the queen you are. It will never be in question how you will live now. I was on 6 magazine covers this month alone!" I paused for dramatic effect, hoping the reality would soon sink into her mind and I continued, "Raoul, my manager…you remember him, don't you?" I said with a smirk. "He says that I am definitely one of the youngest matadors he's ever managed! I have a monumental success rate at my fights, in fact. You would know this, Mother, _if_ you came to any."

Indeed, it had been several months since she last attended my bullfight, even after I had gotten her to go with me. She looked like she was finally okay with it when she was there but I suppose I was wrong. Not even our priest could convince her otherwise!

_Oh so heartless and cruel...I cannot bear him anymore like this. So beautiful and so, so cruel. Did I make him this way? He grows more like this father everyday. It must be my sin...God, please, I know his beauty is a sin, and I have made him prideful, and I know I have sinned for admiring his beauty, but please, forgive me. Don't let him torture me anymore..._

"Vega, I do not wish to argue anymore. I just want to go home and sleep." She said finally. Her voice was getting hoarse. I knew she was tired and I knew she was angry, so I decided to drop the argument for the time being. She sighed heavily. _Thank you, Lord..._

"Don't worry, Mama. We'll be home soon," I assured her. I laid my head on her shoulder and looked at her lovingly, waiting for her acknowledgment—a touch of my face, a stroke of my hair, her serene smile—but none came. I could see her frown but she was silent. It was unbearable but I had no choice but to endure it.

The car finally made its climb down the long stretching drive way, lined with trees that slowly revealed our mansion. It stood like a hauntingly tall figure, illuminated only by the moonlight. I got out of the opposite car door and met the driver as he came around from the front to open my mother's door. I stopped him.

"_I'll_ do it," I said as I opened her door. The driver gave a slight bow and nodded.

"_Sí, Señor._"

Elegantly she pushed her legs out of the door one at a time and I took her hand to help her out of the car; she looked at me wearily. We said nothing as I closed the door and we walked into the house. The house was quiet and dark. All of the servants had gone to bed hours ago and there was no one to let us in save the butler, who also was in bed when we arrived, as evidenced by his robe.

"Has my father come home?" I asked him.

"No, _Señor_, he and his lady have not. Will there be anything else?" I looked at Mother and she rolled her eyes in disdain at the mention of her husband's mistress, and I shook my head. He shifted his gaze downward as he saw his Mother's disdainful look.

"Very well. _Hasta la mañana, doña _de Cerna _y Señor _Vega." said the butler with a polite nod and turning to go back up the staircase to his room.

Suddenly, my mother cried out in pain and I caught her as she slowly fell to the floor.

"What is it, Mama?" I cried in concern.

"Oh...it's nothing... My hips hurt, probably from the dancing."

"Can you walk?" I asked.

"I'm...not sure." she said, squeezing her eyes shut in pain.

I lifted her up by her arms and she stood shakily on her feet. I wrapped her arm around my neck and swept her body into my arms.

"_Està bé_, Mama. I got you," I cooed as I started to carry her to her room.

She knew that anything too strenuous could hurt her again but this night, she paid no heed.

"Drunk off her feet again, I see." said Father as he walked in the door, his mistress in toe. I turned to him.

"I-I'm not drunk, Miguel." she said through her pain.

"Oh really, my dear? The way you _whored_ yourself around all night, men hanging around you like lost dogs, you flirted like a wanton slut with that baron...you could've fooled me! And now I see you've managed to whore yourself to your own son!"

"I can't walk!" she cried angrily.

He chuckled with a wicked sneer.

"Yes, no doubt from spreading your legs for so long! How was she, boy?" I nearly dropped Mother in my furor at his dirty insinuation, so I gently let her down on the cold marble floor.

He laughed even louder and I unbuttoned my shirt, rolled up my sleeves, and loosened my bow tie.

"Vega, don't!" cried Mother, side-sitting on the floor. "He's only drunk. I don't want any more trouble tonight."

"Victoria, you have disrespected me and my family tonight. Now crawl."

"What?" she gasped.

"If you won't walk, you'll crawl to me. _Crawl._" he commanded.

I held out my hand to Mother and looked back at her.

"Don't, Mama." I said. She shook her head, large tears again rolling down her cheeks.

"He'll only be angrier if I don't obey him,"

"Don't do it!" I exclaimed. "I'm not going to let you get beat again. Let me handle this. I can do it."

"I'm waiting, Victoria. You promised to love, honor, and obey me, now do it!" he called. As he stood there, he undid his belt-buckle and unzipped his pants. He then forced his mistress to her knees before him.

"See? Even my own whore respects me more than you!" he gloated. Mother looked away, repulsed. My stomach churned and I turned away also, too disgusted to watch.

I squatted down to comfort her as she cried.

"Don't worry! It'll be okay, I promise." I whispered, trying desperately to ignore the depraved display before me.

"God you two make me sick!" he hissed, grabbing fist-full's of the Italian woman's hair as her head bobbed back and forth. "Perhaps you should breast-feed him you while you two are down there!" He made a loud grunt and stroked the woman's hair as if she were a pet, and then unceremoniously pushed her away, zipping up his pants. The woman rose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, wobbling on her high heels and looking at him in annoyance. She gave us a concerned glance as she left the room, but I didn't care even if she lay dead on the floor.

"I'm going to slit his throat!" I hissed angrily.

"Oh God! Vega, no!" she cried, grabbing my arm.

I frowned and shook my arm free, starting towards the horrid lewd drunken man.

"Aw, come to defend your Mama, boy?" sneered my father as he tucked his shirt back in.

"You will never touch her again, old man!" I cried, throwing a punch at him. He blocked it, hitting me in the jaw and knocking me to the floor. He looked at my mother, his crystal blue eyes sparkling with wicked intent. She began to back away but she found herself against the wall.

"I guess some whores have to be taught!" he said as he came towards her. "How did you like my little demonstration, Victoria dear?" Mother cried and whimpered, resigning herself to fate. "Now, you should know by now when I command you, you will obey!" He reached down and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her up to her knees and pinning her face against his thigh. I recovered as quickly as I could and tried to lunge at him. She fought to push away but he held fast a painful grip on her hair.

"No, please, no. No, not again..." she wailed, her body shook violently and she could feel herself begin to paralyze in fear.

I tackled the old man with all of my strength, knocking him to the floor and my mother landed back on the floor, away from him. I quickly laid a solid punch to his stomach and a few to his face. I hit whatever I thought I could touch. As I hit him, a thought entered my mind about _Señor_ Gauldera and his _Savate_. What power could I possess with such a skill? For the moment though, I was happy to beat this ugly man's face to a bloody pulp. With a roar, he was able to push me off, drawing a pocket knife.

Before I knew it, he had me pinned beneath him, the knife inches away from my precious face. I put up my arms to shield my face and I felt the blade cut into my hands a few times.

A piercing scream shattered my concentration as soon found myself atop him again, the knife sticking from his chest, blood pouring from the wound. I was sweating and shaking, a rush of adrenaline and euphoria pulsing through my body. An irrepressible smile spread on my face as I saw the pooling blood beneath him and his eyes staring back with a dead light. I dipped my index finger in the blood and drew a cross on my forehead; I knew now I was the anointed one, the one that God had chosen to save her from the evil of this world, for if He had not ordained it, this man surely would not be dead.

In the back of my mind, the essence of reality seemed to creep back in as I realized my mother was lying helplessly on the floor. And so I crawled off the creature and crawled over to my pure and innocent mother, who was propped up by a marble pillar. She was still, her crystal blue eyes wide but lifeless and they seemed to sparkle distantly. She said nothing, and I was not even sure she was breathing until I felt her faint warm breath against my cheek as I leaned in close to feel it. Mother was as white as the marble she lay upon, as delicate as a statue. I touched her face cautiously.

"Mother?" I said, pressing my ear to her chest and listening for a heartbeat. It was there alright, her breathing was steady but soft. I pressed her hand to my cheek.

"Mother, I did it!" I cried anxiously. Her eyes did not see me, though I wished desperately that they had. I kissed her palm and held it tenderly. I gasped as I felt something wet beneath me and realized in horror that she was so frightened she had lost her bladder. My stomach churning in disgust, I scooped her into my arms, shakily continuing to carry her to her room. My euphoria grew as I held her in my arms, gazing lovingly at her and knowing that she and I would be free—free to start a new life.

Still, even in my haze of giddiness, I knew that it would only be a matter time before his whore saw what had happened. I knew we had to leave!

I sat Mother on the bed and she sat upright but unmoving. I rummaged around for a suitcase or luggage, all the while wondering where we could possibly go this time of night.

"Mama! We have to leave now!" I cried in vain and still she sat motionless. I saw her bible and rosary on her nightstand and so I picked them up to place in her lap.

I looked down and realized that my hands bled; my right hand had a deep cut across the front, where I had tried to defend myself. I ran to the bathroom and tore off my now bloodied dress-shirt and grabbed the gauze from the cabinet. I looked back at Mother, who still sat there quietly, though if I stared hard enough, I could see her breathe. I continued to look around her room for luggage and found a small bag tucked carefully under her bed. I remembered that bag...

"Someday we will have to leave, Vega." she said softly. "And if I am unable to get it, I want you to take this suitcase." she said, gesturing to a small carpet bag. "It has everything already packed. We won't have to worry." the small boy nodded obediently and wrapped his arms around her waist, she draped her arms on his back and caressed him lovingly...

I put a coat on Mother and sat her in her wheelchair. I was careful not to go passed the body that lay on the floor as I went to find the driver again. He gave me a puzzled look but nodded as he helped me load Mother into the car. I put my arm around her and held her close as we drove in the dark towards the border and she said not a word the whole night.


	6. Terrible Savior

We arrived in half an hour or so in _Monaco._

It was a coastal town, not unlike my home and while it was dark, I could smell the cool ocean air. It was peaceful and still, the city was bustling as we arrived at a grand hotel.

"Good evening," said the desk clerk as we entered. "You are arriving late tonight!" He said in French and I understood what he said, though I still much preferred Castillian or Catalan.

"Yes. We have just come from Barcelona, my mother and I." I replied.

"Will you want one room or two?" asked the clerk, now switching to my native tongue.

"It is only the two of us..." I explained. The clerk glanced down at my silent mother, concern etched on his face.

"Uh... your mother, is she okay?"

"She-she is fine," I stammered, though tried to hide my nervousness. "Only tired."

"Ah, one room with 2 beds I assume," replied the clerk knowingly and I nodded.

"Yes, there is room on the next floor that is perfect, I think." and he turned to get the key from a rack behind him.

"This way. Would you like some help with your bags?" he asked, noting the size of my mother's luggage. I stepped forward towards him, standing straight at my full height, and stood before the bag.

"That won't be necessary. I can take it," I replied confidently. He only nodded quietly, signaling a young man, and he proceeded into the elevator, with me following, pushing mother in her chair. Her bag was in her lap.

We arrived on the next floor, the bellhop unlocking the door and turning on the light.

"Will that be all for tonight? Please ring the front desk if you need anything." He said as he turned to me and held out his hand. I gave him a few large coins and with a nod, he closed the door carefully behind him.

I surveyed the two beds, they were the same size and I chose the right side. A large balcony window looked out over the city. I placed her bag on her bed and sat with a sigh.

She sat frozen and still in her wheelchair, staring out into nothingness. I had never seen anything like this before and I crouched before her, looking at her face as if I were gazing into a porcelain statue.

"Are you okay, Mama?" I asked

Suddenly, she fell to the floor from her wheelchair, landing on her knees. I crawled to her quickly and wrapped my arms around her tight. Mother was whispering now, something unintelligible and crossing herself repeatedly.

I tried to look at her but she would not see me. She only gazed at the wall, her blue eyes unblinking.

She thrashed from my grasp, turned away and reached for her bag on the bed, producing her blessed rosary. She was hunched over and rocked back and forth. I kneeled behind her and wrapped my hands around hers, desperately trying to comfort her and I could feel her body tense. This time she did not move and we were silent, but she held a white-knuckle grip as the rosary shook in her hands. Her lips moved now though I could hear no sound.

"You're praying, aren't you?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I pressed my lips to the back of her head and patiently tried to make her understand.

"It was _His _will it be done.

_'Thy Kingdom Come_

_ Your Will Be Done..._'

Do you think He hears you now? He already knows what I've done and _He_ has _forgiven_ me because _I_ am your savior." I whispered. "There is no God in heaven nor demon in hell who can save you now more than I." I need not tell her that really the only heaven I believed in now was between a woman's legs and hell was wherever my father was.

She lifted her head but said nothing.

"Mama...he had no right to hurt you. No man has any right to hurt you." I whispered. She turned and sobbed in my arms, the heaviness of her body suddenly pressing against me, as though all of her sorrow crashed down upon her at once. I could feel her soft trembling body heaving against me as she cried, as alternately she rapt against my chest and clutched at my shirt.

"Oh God, Vega! What have you done?" she cried as she wept against my chest.

"You're safe now, you're safe." I whispered as I stroked her hair.

It seemed strange but as she cried, the harder she held me, the more it felt as though she was trying to pull away—as if I repulsed her—still, it was unthinkable to me. I felt her touching my face with her trembling, clammy hands and I pushed such an unthinkable notion away in my mind.

"Hold me!" she cried softly. I knew she could never resist as I laid my cheek against her head.

I stroked her hair and rocked her a little as I held her; how strange it seemed to me now that I held her as she once held me, soothing my fear; she cried so hard that she began hyperventilating and I wondered how long she would continue like this.

"He can't hurt you anymore, Mama. I will take care of you now." I whispered as I pulled the comforter blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her still shivering body. She wrapped the rest of the blanket around me and we huddled close together. I pressed my forehead against hers and whispered,

"Remember when we were like this? How scared we were, holding onto each other so tight, afraid to let go?" I smiled at her and she smiled back, a small hysteric chuckle escaping her mouth, her eyes gleaming with tears. She caressed my lips with her fingers gently. "I felt so safe in your arms then, like his blows couldn't touch us...but after awhile, I realized I could still feel them. I wanted to run away so far from there, take you with me. I _begged_ you to leave him, I _begged._.." I said and her smile faded, I could see more tears coming to her eyes as the anger rose in my voice. "You told me it was against _God_ to leave, against the _Church_, but then I realized... there is no God who would ever let someone as pure as you suffer so-"

"Vega-" my mother warned me as her tears fell.

"_So_ much and I knew he had to die. God would want that." I could feel now my pride welling in my throat, or was it passion, I did not know.

"Are you _insane, _Vega? You can't speak such things! I won't hear it! It's _blasphemy!_" she whispered hoarsely, as if she feared God might hear us, putting her hand to my mouth; I pushed it away defiantly.

"_Insane?_ Insane?" I exclaimed with a wry chuckle, "I am not insane, no, Mama. I see it all very clearly. _I am_ your savior, don't you remember? You said it...from your own lips, Mama! _Your own lips!_" I exclaimed. "You told me...when I was young...when I was young..." I began muttering the phrase like a mantra.

"N-no! I didn't mean it! I was...unstable. I was delirious. I didn't know what I was saying, and you! You were just a child. How was I to know you could understand?"

I stroked her face and smiled.

"Maybe I didn't understand that word, not then, but wouldn't you think that after all these years in Mass, I would know who the Savior was and what it meant?"

"I-I never said to kill him..." she wailed.

"You never had to. It had to be done. He's a monster."

"Monster..." whispered Mother staring at the floor.  
"Monster." she said again aloud and she looked at me.

"That's right, Mama. He's a monster."

"_You_ are a monster." she said but it wasn't in a cold or mean way. It was as if she were stating a fact. "You are a beautiful, beautiful monster that_ I_ made..."

"No, Mama. You are confused. That's all." I said, trying to disregard anything she said. Such a sin was unspeakable from her mouth. I simply wouldn't allow it; but in truth, her words haunted me.

"There is no forgiveness for what I've done. Satan was very beautiful before he fell, and you are, too..." she said as she broke down into tears again. She had been through such a traumatic night, how could she make any sense? Certainly she wasn't now, but how was I to make her understand?

"Don't you see? It's my _destiny_. I am the warrior of God, and my purpose was to save you from your pain, save you from sin, save you from this life—and I have. I am your savior now. There is no one else. All we have is each other and you know that." There was no possible way now she could deny it because I was certain even she knew it to be true.

I pulled her to her feet and I sat her on the edge of the bed, going to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. Returning, I knelt in front of her and peered into her battered face. Her nose suddenly began to bleed, a river of blood ran from it down her mouth and I gently wiped it away, as I had done so many times before. She whimpered a little but said nothing as I dabbed the cloth against her face and I realized that in the adrenaline rush of that night, I failed to see just how beaten she really was. I had seen her in far worse states, however. Her eyes blackened, lips swollen and bleeding, her body dark with bruises of all shapes, colors and sizes. I had to wonder if Father had only spared her this fate the other night because of my intervention. Even in such condition, she radiated the same beauty she always had and I knew Father could never beat it out of her. I would always see it, no matter what.

Mother taught me when I was very young how to tend her wounds (as well as my own), something I learnt quickly. By now, I was a skilled expert. Of course, it was not always the case; I had to learn as the situation demanded it. My father was not as violent towards me as he was Mother, which was something to be said about how he felt towards her. He had some malicious hatred of her that I did not understand. If our faith had not forbade it, they would have been divorced years ago, my mother spared his bitter wrath, but because he had to live with her, it only made his hatred stronger. Why he hated her I did not truly know and Mother never wanted to say. I suspected it had something to do with her first marriage to a man who had died just before I was born, though I did not know the circumstances. Father accused her of infidelity and for being a gold-digging pauper, but I knew her better than that. While I had frequent proof of his infidelity, it was my mother who obediently loved him, and never tried to speak against him, though I know she wanted to do so. My father was a cold, imposing man who demanded respect and those he did not feel respected him were subject to his wrath. My mother unfortunately was the one who often incurred it the most. She feared it so much that she began to fear sleep, fearing that she might be attacked at her most vulnerable. He often threatened her that she did not need to be asleep for him to kill her, but nonetheless, she often came to my room at night, seeking some sort of comfort, hoping that he would not be cruel enough to attack us both...

I was awoken one night to sobbing as she stumbled into my room. This alarmed me, being awoke in such a way—fearing that something more awful had happened; that maybe someone had died or something—but I could see my mother's face in the pale darkness, illuminated by the moon as she stumbled towards my bed. The tears glistened on her cheeks, her eyes were dark and I thought that her left eye was obscured in shadow, only to see it begin to swell. A dark trail of blood ran from her nose down to her swollen lips, which bled down the corners of her mouth like some gruesome vampire. A bruise formed on the left side of her jaw like another horrid shadow in the darkness. Mother's body shook from her weeping as she continued to shuffle slowly forward like the half dead creature that she was. I sat up watching her, my heart pounding in my chest. I was unsure of what to do. Her mournful wailing was unbearable and my heart ached to see her like that.

Suddenly, she collapsed face down onto my bed, landing right beside me. I watched her weep, the bed shook now with her heavy sobs. I reached out to stroke her golden hair as she had done many times to soothe me. I paused, hesitant and afraid that she might break if I touched her, but I cautiously stroked her hair and she shattered beneath my touch. My hands trembled and I drew away.

"Mama," I said softly, "what's wrong? What happened?"

She only continued to cry harder and then she pulled herself up and laid her head on my chest. I brushed back her hair that clung to her tear-soaked face. It was then I beheld the true extent of horrors marring her beautiful face. I wrapped my arms tight around her, willing all my strength and warmth into her. Gently I kissed her forehead, the way she had always comforted me. She shuddered violently, whimpering and thrashing like a fitful child as she clutched at my nightshirt. I laid there, unable to sleep, as she slept with her head against my chest. I felt nearly crushed but at the same time, I wanted her to have some comfort.

This became a nightly occurrence, almost like a bizarre ritual. At first, climbing into my bed without a word and cuddling against me, and then it was _I_ sleeping in _her_ bed as I grew into a young man, sleeping beside _her_ each night. I was sad and overwhelmed by this display, and unsure of what to make of it, only to know that she was desperate and in pain. As time wore on though, it was nearly unbearable. I began to ask why she had to sleep with me. She would only tell me that she feared for her life. I began tell her to sleep in her own bed or to let me sleep alone in mine, but then she would beg me. No boy should have to endure their own mother pleading with them and still, I did. There was something so helpless in the way she looked at me, as if she were a child herself. Laying there, with my back to her, and her arms wrapped around me, I wondered why it had to be this way.

"Don't you see?" she whispered, "You're my savior now." she said it, smiling gently at me with all the conviction in the world, all the truth that I knew I could not doubt.

How little did I know how true those words were, beyond my comprehension; that _I_ could have the power to save her from her pain. In time, I _knew_ I was her savior.

As I hovered so close to her, I could smell the blood that ran from her nose and mouth. I sucked on my lip and tried to deny the impulse to taste it as I continued to wipe it away. When I was a child, as we huddled together in fear, it was something I could taste, just like her bitter tears. She would crush me against her breast as she wept, her head tucked down onto mine. Helplessly kissing and cuddling me, trying to comfort me though we were both so afraid. I could barely breathe pressed so tightly against her. Her kisses were bitter and salty, mixed with her tears that covered me like a black rain. Such were my comforts back then, and even now staring at what would be so gruesome to some, it was so beautiful to me.

"Vega, why do you look at me like that?" asked my mother and I realized I had been staring at her, the rag still in my hand and poised to touch her face. Quickly I shrugged it off.

"It's nothing..." I replied simply, and she put her hands on my face, her eyes sparkling warmly with her sweet smile. I could sense however, that she was about to lecture me again. How foolish was I to think she would let the issue rest.

"_Ay__!_ I love you _so_ much and, I forgive you, but I _cannot_ forgive your sin—no matter the reason." she said and I smirked to myself. I wanted nothing more than her love and her acceptance—but her forgiveness was not necessary—as I knew I was already absolved by God, though she would _never_ understand that. Still, I knew that her own sense of devout righteousness compelled her to tell me so.

"You've committed a _mortal_ sin, my _Narcís_." she said, her voice now had a sombre tone, and the sparkle and color seemed to fade from her eyes, her warm smile replaced with a cold scowl.

"But...how can you weigh one sin against another, Mama?" I asked, and I could feel my own righteous indignation begin to boil, my eyes flashed passionately. "I have only killed to _protect_ you, _honor_ you."

"I..can't," she said softly as she looked down and then she said as if it were an afterthought, "but you will never honor me by killing." and I knew the seriousness in her voice because she always took sin _very_ seriously. I was quiet a moment as I reflected on her words. It was not that they bothered me because I knew I was right and I would always be right, no matter what. If only the Will of God could make her see this then I _knew_ she would be proud of what I had done.

I pulled her to her feet and held her; she held fast to her rosary in the other hand. There it was and it nagged at me. It dangled there, taunting me, and I stared at it. It was not good enough for her that I had saved her. It was not good enough for her that I had nearly died in doing so. Was I not Christlike enough for her? I was the "anointed one", anointed with the blood of a fallen sinner...but no. It would never be enough for her. Gently, I tried to take it from her grasp.

"No!" she cried as she clutched it against her breast possessively. I took her face in my hands to make her understand.

"Don't you trust me?" I asked."You do not need it now. I am your savior. _Me._"

"Yes-I mean, _no!_ It isn't right, it isn't..." she moaned like a wrathful child, and then she looked at me again, her eyes shining innocently, fraught with confusion. "But...but, you've killed your own father...you've _sinned_..." and she dropped her arms limply to her side in resignation.

"And aren't you glad?" I asked, studying her fearful eyes. "I have slain your monster for you. Aren't you _grateful_?" she looked at me as I emphasized the last word.

A large tear fell down her cheek and I could see her begin to crumble. "Yes." she replied and I smiled.

"Then _you_'_ve_ sinned, Mother." I said with a chuckle and she looked at me again bewildered, not entirely seeing the _perverse_ sort of irony of the situation.

"It's alright, Mama. Don't be afraid. God knows that you and I have suffered our share of sins." I said, the light of confidence shining in my eyes. I could still see how afraid she was, the uncertainty shown in her eyes of whether she should accept what I had done. Her body still trembled, and I rubbed her arms, trying to soothe her tremors. She pressed her head against my chest, her body almost too weak with fear, unable to stand any longer, wrapping her arms around my waist and replied with a wistful sigh,

"_Ay déu meu_, listen to how grown up you sound. Perhaps it's all this talk of _God_ and _sin_...Yes, yes I'm glad you killed him. He-he deserved to die for all the things he's done, and I'm glad it was you who did it. May He forgive us, my darling." she made the sign of the cross as I wrapped one hand around her waist and quickly took the rosary from her other hand, throwing it out of sight.

That night as we slept side by side, I held her close. I knew she must still be afraid, but now it seemed if she was more afraid to let go of me. There was a sort of peaceful look on her face, instead of her usual fitful look she seemed to have each night. I smiled and stroked her hair, secure in the knowledge that I could give her this peace, for it was the first time in many years that she had had any. I was not sure what the morning would bring for us, alone in Monaco without a passport and only the money we had on us. Nor did I know how long we would be here, hiding from fate.


End file.
